Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story
by DisneyPrincessKelly
Summary: A Jonsa Re-mix to Alexander and Eliza Hamilton from the musical Hamilton. For Day 6 of JonxSansa Remix 2017, Historical Figures. A song-fic to Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story (obviously). Sansa tries to honor Jon's legacy after he dies. Not technically an AU because it could fit into the canon of the show, but whatever.


Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

 _Let me tell you what I wish I known_

 _When I was young and dreamed of glory_

 _You have no control_

 _Who lives, who dies, who tells your story_

The fallen leaves cracked under the boots of the former Lady of Winterfell as she slowly made her way to the crypts beneath her home. She found herself coming here more and more often as yet another winter approached. It would be her tenth winter- and something told her- her last. She had come here often over the years to visit her deceased family members- her father, her brother, her sister, her son. However, this chilly afternoon, she hadn't come to visit any of them, but to the person she felt most responsible for- her beloved husband, Jon Snow.

 _Every other founding father story gets told_

 _Every other founding father gets to grow old_

 _But when you're gone, who remembers your name?_

 _Who keeps your flame?_

 _Who tells your story?_

After Jon and his allies had prevailed in the war for their future, Daenerys Targaryen had been unanimously elected in Westeros's historic free-election. For the first time ever, every citizen in Westeros, from the high lords in their castles, to the common people in their modest houses, had chosen their ruler. The Mother of Westeros, as she had affectionately been known as, ruled the country wisely for twenty years before deciding to step down to spend the rest of her life at her home in Dragonstone. Sansa could not imagine a ruler that could have been more admired, respected, and revered than their first elected-ruler, Daenerys Targaryen. She would forever be known as a Mother to her country.

Those twenty prosperous years under Daenerys's rule had been tumultuous, but mostly happy ones for Sansa and her family. After the War of the Dawn, and Jon's true parentage had been revealed, he and Sansa had married to rule as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell. There had been some talk to crown them King and Queen in the North, but in the end, they decided to trust Daenerys and the democratic process. They believed Westeros would be stronger if it were united as one instead of split up into seven different kingdoms.

Jon and Sansa were deeply in love and thrilled that they no longer had to be ashamed of their true feelings. Arya had been a bit hesitant, but she was happy that Jon would still be in her life as her brother once again. After their wedding, children soon followed. They had four children, two boys and two girls. The first-born had been a boy which Jon and Sansa enthusiastically agreed to name Robb, after their dearly departed brother. Sansa would remember the feeling of holding her son in her arms for the first time for the rest of her life and beyond. Sansa loved all of her children equally, of course, but Robb was particularly special to her simply because he was her first.

That's why it had hurt her so deeply when Robb died as young and as tragically as his namesake. Robb was nothing if not an honorable and dutiful son. When other boys started calling the Lord of Winterfell an adulterer and Robb a product of incest, he knew he had to challenge them to a duel. When Robb came to his father seeking advice, Jon had told him to be as honorable as his grandfather by laying down his weapon to settle the dispute. This advice, which Robb followed to a T, ended up costing his eldest son his life.

In her heartbreak and grief, it took Sansa months to forgive Jon for the part he played, but forgive him she did. After all, part of the reason she loved him so much was that he was always as honorable as her Lord Father. Always. It wasn't long before Jon found himself involved in another duel. This time Jon himself was defending the honor of the newest ruler of Westeros, Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island. In his bid to be honorable as Lord Eddard, Jon was struck down by Cersei Lannister's sole surviving heir who believed that the seat of ruling in Westeros belonged to him by right.

 _I put myself back in the narrative_

 _I stop wasting time on tears_

 _I live another fifty years_

 _It's not enough_

After burying Jon in the crypts beneath Winterfell, Sansa is only a couple years shy of forty. She dries her tears and steels herself for what comes next. She still has so much left to do.

 _I interview every soldier who fought by your side_

 _She tells our story_

As her bastard brother, and then her cousin, and finally her lord husband, Sansa always knew that the man she loved was capable of great things. But she was only one person and she only knew one side of the story. To truly understand her husband, Sansa knew she would have to dig deeper. She talked to Sam Tarly, the Maester of Winterfell, to hear everything he knew about Jon. She traveled North to the Wall to talk with what remained of Jon's former brothers. She traveled South to King's Landing to talk to Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister, Missandei, and Grey Worm. She talked to anyone and everyone who had an inkling of experience fighting with or under Jon. Tormund Giantsbane, Davos Seaworth, even Gendry Waters, her sister's husband. But of course, the person Sansa most relies on to tell her every detail about Jon is her brother Bran, the Three-Eyed Raven.

 _I try to make sense of your thousands of pages of writing_

 _You really do write like you're running out of time_

Sansa also spent days and nights buried in Jon's solar reading everything he ever wrote. Every letter, every correspondence, every decree, every personal journal entry. Sansa could not believe how much Jon wrote. Almost like he knew his time was limited.

 _I rely on Angelica_

 _While she's alive, we tell your story_

 _She's buried in Trinity Church near you_

 _When I needed her most, she was right on time_

Despite telling herself that she came here to visit Jon, Sansa found herself lingering in front of her sister's statue and getting lost in another memory as she was so apt to do these days.

 _One night, as Sansa is reading through yet another correspondence between Jon and Daenerys Targaryen, her sister enters the solar. Sansa is so wrapped up in reading every word Jon ever wrote that she doesn't even look up. Arya sits on the floor next to Sansa and takes her hands in hers. This is what finally makes Sansa look up. Arya can see how blood-shot her sister's eyes are and the bags under them that Sansa cannot hide._

 _Arya sighs and whispers, "Sansa, you don't have to do this alone. He may not have been my husband, but that doesn't mean I loved him less. After all, in a way, he was mine before he was yours."_

 _Sansa just looks at her blankly._

 _Arya continues, "Let me help you tell his story. I want to make sure his legacy is preserved, too."_

 _As realization dawns in Sansa's eyes, her lips spread into a smile. She pulls her sister into a hug and whispers, "Thank you, Arya."_

 _As Arya pulls back, she asks, "So, can I help you sort through this reading material?"_

 _Sansa thinks for a minute before replying, "Actually, have you ever talked to Gendry about what happened North of the Wall?"_

Arya had died ten years ago from a fever. It wasn't traditional for statues to be made of family members who were not Kings in the North or Lords of Winterfell. However, her Lord Father had broken tradition by having a statue made for his deceased siblings Brandon and Lyanna. Sansa had felt that Arya had done so much for their family and for her in particular, that she deserved to have a statue made of her just as much as their aunt and uncle, if not more.

 _And I'm still not through_

 _I ask myself, "What would you do if you had more time?"_

 _The Lord, in his kindness_

 _He gives me what you always wanted_

 _He gives me more time_

Sansa had scoured the North to find a skilled artist who actually knew what Jon had looked like. She didn't want a repeat of her father's statue. She didn't want to stare at a piece of rock that did a poor job of imitating her husband for the rest of her life. This slab of concrete was a poor substitute for Jon's warmth, his comforting smile, and the crinkle in his eyes. Still, it was all she had left. As Sansa looked into the stone eyes of the freshly made statue for the first time, she wondered what her next move should be. She whispered into the quiet air of the crypts, "What would you do if you had more time, my love? What should I do with mine?"

 _I raise funds in D.C. for the Washington Monument_

 _She tells my story_

 _I speak out against slavery_

 _You could have done so much more if you only had time_

Sansa travels to King's Landing to ask the newly elected ruler, the son of Lady Brienne and Sir Jaime, to commission a statue celebrating Westeros's first elected ruler, Daenerys Targaryen.

"My Lord, my late husband believed in Daenerys's vision for this country. She brought us back from the brink of ruin and established the peace and prosperity that we are still enjoying today. Across the Narrow Sea, she ended the inhuman practice of slavery in the area that is now known as The Bay of Dragons. I beg you to build a statue in King's Landing to honor her and her achievements."

"Lady Stark, the efforts of your husband and aunt have not gone unrecognized. Moreover, my mother has warned me repeatedly to never deny Sansa Stark anything, lest I want to start a fight that I will most surely lose. Your request will be granted."

 _And when my time is up, have I done enough?_

 _Will they tell our story?_

Sansa sits alone in her solar one evening staring into the fire, trying to think of her next project. What did Jon love the most? _Me and the kids_ , Sansa thought bitterly as tears threatened to come to her eyes. But, then, the answer came to her. Jon's most passionate cause. His biggest complaint about his own life. Of course, it was so simple.

 _I establish the first private orphanage in New York City_

 _I help to raise hundreds of children_

 _I get to see them growing up_

 _In their eyes, I see you, Alexander_

 _I see you every time_

Sansa establishes the first private orphanage in the North, as well as helps to clean up the ones in King's Landing. Sansa knows how lost Jon felt growing up, not knowing his mother, and never being able to be a true son to his father. Jon was lucky to grow up at Winterfell, but he still felt alone in his youth, even in a castle as large and crowded as Winterfell. Sansa wondered if he would have felt more at home with other orphans or other bastards who didn't have a place in the world- just like him. The idea makes her sad, but happy at the same time.

The orphanage, called Winter's Children, was built in the only city in the North, White Harbor. Sansa was needed at Winterfell, still being its lady, but she spent as much time at Winter's Children as she could. She loved meeting the children and watching them grow up and eventually leave to make their way in the world. And she always saw Jon reflected in their eyes. At first, she only saw Jon's lack of direction, insecurity, and anger. But as the children grew, she saw Jon's kindness, strength, bravery, and perseverance. In those moments, she felt closer to Jon than she did in the cold, dark crypt. She was wrong when she thought that Jon's lifeless statue was all she had left of him. As long as Jon's spirit was alive in these children, then he was, too.

 _And when my time is up_

 _Have I done enough?_

 _Will they tell my story?_

Sansa stood in front of Jon's statue for nearly an hour before she spoke.

"Hello, my love. It's been fifty years since I last saw your smile. Since I last felt your touch. I am pushing ninety years-old and I believe my time is nearly up. Rickon continues to excel in his position as Lord of Winterfell. And his sons have grown into wonderful young men who will take care of our home long after I'm gone. My only concern is your legacy.


End file.
